You Can't Drink a Meatball Through a Straw #7

by Henry Winkler

  To Jamie Gangel—a stand-up friend!—HW

  To Paula and Mark Waxman with a W and much love—LO

  For the Furmstons, Mark, Michelle, Betty, Daisy, and Ren—SG

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Penguin Young Readers Group

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LL

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  Text copyright © 2016 by Henry Winkler and Lin Oliver Productions, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Scott Garrett. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-448-48658-1 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-0-448-48659-8 (hc)

  ISBN 978-0-698-18340-7 (eBook)

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  “Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “The pizza’s here!”

  “How do you know?” my best friend Frankie Townsend asked. “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”

  “My nose knows,” I told him. “I can sniff out pepperoni a mile away.”

  It was Friday pizza night. Frankie and my other best friend, Ashley Wong, and I were sitting in my living room playing this card game we made up called Florida Coconuts. I’d explain the rules to you, but they don’t make any sense, even to us. It involves dropping a deck of cards on the loser’s head, instead of a real coconut, which would leave a lump.

  I got up and ran to the front door. Our dog, Cheerio, followed me. He can sniff out pepperoni a mile away, too. I taught him that. My mom was there balancing a huge pizza box in her hands. My younger sister, Emily, was next to her, holding a paper bag that smelled like Italian salad and garlic rolls. Standing next to her was a tall girl wearing a white chef’s hat.

  “Mom, I’ve never been so glad to see you in my whole life!” I said. “Emily, I’m not that happy to see you. And you with the crazy hat, I have no idea who you are.”

  “Hank,” my mom said, coming into our apartment. “This is your cousin Judith Ann. Remember, I told you she was coming in from Chicago to spend the weekend with us. We’re hosting her while her parents are away at a business conference.”

  “Whoops,” I answered. “That must have slipped right through my brain and out my left ear. Or maybe it was my right ear. But who cares when there’s pizza involved?”

  I reached out and took the box from my mom’s hands and headed for the dining-room table.

  My dad brought plates and a big roll of paper towels from the kitchen. It was going to be our usual Friday pizza feast and movie night.

  “Dig in, Judith Ann,” I called to her. “Take off your crazy hat and grab a slice while it’s hot.”

  Judith Ann walked over to the dining-room table and stared at our pizza.

  “No thanks,” she said. “I don’t eat that type of pizza.”

  “Oh,” my dad said. “Are you allergic to wheat?”

  “No,” Judith Ann said. “But I only like pizza I make myself, with goat cheese and artichokes.”

  “Judith Ann is quite an excellent cook,” my mom explained. “In fact, in case you have forgotten,” she said, looking straight at me, “the reason she’s spending the weekend with us is that she’s competing in the Junior Chef Cook-Off.”

  “Oh, that explains the crazy hat,” I said. “But I’ve got to tell you, Judy, you’re missing out on one delicious pizza here. We ordered triple cheese with pepperoni.”

  “No one calls me Judy,” she said without cracking a smile. “My full name is Judith Ann. Just like your full name is Henry—which is what I’m going to call you.”

  “You can do that,” I said with my mouth full. “But I won’t answer.”

  Ashley and Frankie burst out laughing, shooting some pretty powerful garlic breath into the air.

  “He’s been ‘Hank’ since we were in preschool,” Frankie told her.

  “He’s definitely not a ‘Henry’ type,” Ashley added. “Henrys have gray hair and are math teachers.”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “I can’t even subtract, so you better stick with Hank. Tell me, Judy . . . I mean Judith . . . I mean Judith Ann. What’s your favorite thing to cook, aside from weird pizza?”

  “Well, for the Junior Chef Cook-Off this weekend, I’ll be preparing my special vegetarian meatballs.”

  “Wait a minute.” I stopped eating and scratched my head. “What makes it a meatball if there’s no meat? I mean, if there’s no meat, then it’s just a ball.”

  Frankie and Ashley cracked up again. Judith Ann was not amused.

  “My vegetarian meatballs are made of chopped eggplant, carrots, mushrooms, white beans, and of course, bread crumbs.”

  “Oh, they sound . . . so . . . um . . . interesting,” Ashley said.

  “And round,” Frankie added.

  Judith Ann seemed pleased. “I got the idea from watching my favorite TV show, Country Cooking for the City. They were making vegetarian hot dogs.”

  The idea of a hot dog made of mushed-up cauliflower almost made me gag. So I decided it’d be best to just eat some pepperoni pizza and talk about TV shows.

  “Wait a minute—on all of TV, that’s your favorite show?” I said to Judith Ann, taking a bite of my new slice of pizza. “My favorite is Zombats. It’s about these really scary zombie bats. You’d love it.”

  “I don’t really like hairy rodents,” Judith Ann said. “Besides, I only watch cooking shows on TV.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “Just like this pizza, you’re missing out.” I tried to offer Judith Ann a slice, one with a juicy piece of pepperoni right in the middle, but she just made a face.

  “How about if I make you guys some real food?” Judith Ann said. “I need to practice for the contest anyway, and you can be my tasters. Maybe my cooking will take your taste buds on a new adventure.”

  “Oh, that sounds like such fun, doesn’t it, kids?” my mom said with a little too much enthusiasm.

  “Yeah, it really does,” Emily agreed.

  “Emily, you have a chore to do first,” my dad said. “Katherine’s cage needs cleaning. When you have a pet, you have to take care of it.”

  Cheerio wagged his tail and started chasing it. When he runs in a circle, he looks just like a Cheerio. That’s how he got his name.

  “Oh, that’s right, Daddy,” Emily said. Then turning to Judith Ann, she added, “Katherine is my pet iguana. She’s really pretty. And she doesn’t like a pellet-poop buildup.”

  For just a second, Judith Ann l
ooked like she was going to throw up. But she recovered in time to squeak out, “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished.”

  Ashley and Frankie and I had been planning to watch The Swamp Monster for the fortieth time. But before I knew it, my mom had herded us into the kitchen to watch Judith Ann wash her eggplants and carrots and mushrooms.

  So long, Swamp Monster. Good-bye, fun.

  It was going to be a vegetarian meatball kind of night.

  I honestly don’t know why everyone was making such a big deal out of Judith Ann. Cooking doesn’t seem that hard to me. Even I can cook.

  Everyone but Emily and my dad gathered in the kitchen, which seemed to make Judith Ann very happy. I could tell she liked being the center of attention. I mean, why else would a person walk around wearing a puffy chef’s hat?

  First, we had to watch Judith Ann unpack and wash her vegetables. That was about as exciting as watching your toenails grow. She had brought two suitcases. One was for her clothes, and the other was filled to the brim with vegetables.

  “You have to treat vegetables gently,” she explained, “so they won’t bruise.”

  “Talking about bruises,” I blurted out. “You should have seen the one I got last week when we were playing dodgeball.”

  “You mean when Nick McKelty nailed you in the knee with the ball?” Frankie asked.

  “Your whole kneecap turned totally purple,” Ashley added.

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “It looked like Judith Ann’s eggplant was growing out of my leg.”

  I reached out and grabbed her eggplant off the kitchen counter and held it to my knee.

  “See how purple and gross I am,” I said, doing my best eggplant voice. I had never talked like an eggplant before, but I have to say, I did a pretty good job. I wondered what other vegetables I could sound like. A carrot would have a looooong voice. And a cauliflower would have a b-b-b-bumpy voice.

  Frankie and Ashley burst out laughing. My mom didn’t. In fact, she gave me that I don’t approve look.

  “Hank, be respectful,” she said. “Judith Ann is trying to win a competition, and we need to support her.”

  Judith Ann took the eggplant from me, put it on our wooden chopping block, and began to cut it into little pieces.

  “Henry,” she said, “you can help me by peeling the carrots.”

  “Sorry, Judith Ann,” I said. “The only thing I know how to peel is a banana.”

  She wasn’t taking no for an answer. Instead, she took out a vegetable peeler and demonstrated how you scrape it along the carrot to take the skin off.

  “All professional cooks have an assistant,” she said, handing me the peeler. “I’d like you to be mine.”

  “Wait a minute! Since when did I become your assistant?”

  “Since just now,” she said.

  I took the peeler and started scraping the carrot. Nothing was happening.

  “The peel of the carrot is not going anywhere,” I said. “It must be glued on.”

  “You’re using the wrong side,” Ashley whispered. “You have to use the sharp side.”

  “I knew that,” I said, which of course I didn’t.

  Judith Ann spent the next half hour chopping everything—carrots, mushrooms, celery, little chunks of toasted bread. Luckily, she stopped short of chopping up her socks. She was chopping so fast that if my mom hadn’t stopped her, she would have chopped the kitchen table into little pieces.

  “Hey, guys,” Frankie whispered to Ashley and me as Judith Ann started rolling her meatballs. “Who wants to come with me tomorrow to the hockey game? My dad’s got tickets.”

  “No, thanks,” Ashley said. “I’m not a hockey fan. I can never even see that little puck.”

  “Well, you can count me in,” I said. “It sounds great.”

  I couldn’t stop smiling. That is, until I asked my dad if I could go. He had only one word for me. It was a short word. I’ll give you a hint. It starts with an N and ends with an O.

  I couldn’t believe that my father had said no.

  “But, Dad,” I wailed. “It’s a professional hockey game. And the season is almost over.”

  “I’m sorry, Hank,” he said. “Your cousin has come all the way from Chicago, and she is our guest. Tomorrow’s the cook-off, and we are going to support her.”

  Frankie left for his apartment, and the rest of us stood around watching Judith Ann take the meatballs out of the pot.

  “Would you like to taste one, Henry?” she asked me.

  “They’re actually not bad,” Ashley said through her full mouth. “A little squishy, but I could get used to it.”

  “No offense, Judith Ann,” I said. “But I like meatballs that don’t squish. You know, ones that leave little chunks of meat between your teeth for later.”

  “After eating my meatballs, the only thing that will stay in your mouth is the delicious taste,” Judith Ann said. “Little chunks left behind aren’t part of the fine-food experience.”

  I had heard enough from Judith Ann about fine food. My face turned red, and my mouth went out of control.

  “Listen,” I said, “I know fifty ways to make a great peanut butter sandwich. So don’t talk to me about fine food. My taste buds are as good as yours. Maybe even better.”

  “Peanut butter should never be let out of its jar,” Judith Ann said. “It’s a snack for three-year-olds.”

  My mom could tell that I was mad.

  “Okay, everyone,” she said in her most cheery voice. “I think we should call it a night. We have to get up early tomorrow to get to the cook-off on time.”

  “The cook-off sounds like fun. Can I go, too?” Ashley asked.

  “Of course,” my mom said. “We’d love to have you, if it’s okay with your parents.”

  As if the night hadn’t been bad enough, it got worse when my mom sprang some surprising news on me: Judith Ann needed somewhere to sleep, and my mom had offered her my bed without even asking me.

  “But, Mom,” I whined. “That’s my bed. The mattress is shaped like my body. It looks forward to me every night.”

  “I’ve set up your sleeping bag on the floor in Emily’s room,” my mom said. “It will be just like camping out.”

  “Yeah, camping out next to a creature who doesn’t like me and is going to hiss at me all night long. And I don’t mean the iguana.”

  “Hank, it’s only two nights,” my mom said. “It will be fine.”

  At that very moment, the kitchen door burst open, and Emily stuck her head in.

  “Mom!” she screamed. “You’ve got to come quickly. Katherine is spitting up a lettuce ball. It’s all green and slimy.”

  Okay, let me ask you a question. If you had to spend your Friday night cooking meatless meatballs, then sleep on the hard, cold floor of your know-it-all sister’s room with a barfing iguana spitting lettuce balls at your face, how would you feel?

  Yup, that’s the way I felt, too.

  The Junior Chef Cook-Off was being held at the Manhattan Cooking Institute, which is a fancy school where people go to learn to be chefs. Since the school is closed on Saturdays, they let the junior chefs take over the school’s huge kitchen for the competition. When we arrived, we were greeted at the door by a large, round woman wearing a white jacket and a hairnet. Her name was written in red above her pocket.

  “Hello, Ms. Smelly,” I said, trying so hard to read her name.

  “Young man,” she answered. “My name is Fern Smiley.”

  “I’m really glad,” I said, “because that’s so much better than Smelly.”

  Ashley quickly covered her mouth, trying to keep in a laugh. I snickered, too. My mom put a firm hand on my shoulder, as if to say, That will be quite enough out of you.

  “My niece, Judith Ann Zipzer, is part of the cook-off,” she said to Ms. Smiley, who by the way, w
asn’t smiling.

  “I’ve brought my ingredients with me,” Judith Ann said.

  Ms. Smiley looked down at the suitcase Judith Ann was carrying.

  “Very good,” she said. “I’m glad to see you’ve followed our directions.”

  “Where should I go?” Judith Ann asked. Her voice sounded shaky, like she was nervous. That surprised me. The night before, she had acted so confident, like she was the queen of all cooks.

  “What are you waiting for, Junior Chef Zipzer?” Ms. Smiley snapped. “The competition is due to begin in five minutes. Our kitchens run like hands on a clock, perfectly on time. Proceed to kitchen station number seven. Ticktock, young lady.”

  Judith Ann picked up her suitcase, dashed across the large room to kitchen station number seven, and quickly started unpacking her vegetables. We followed her.

  “Junior chefs,” Ms. Smiley called out. “Please look on your cutting boards for a printed sheet of our safety rules. You must read it and sign your name, to show that you understand and will follow the rules.”

  Judith Ann picked up the paper. She had a funny look on her face.

  “Henry,” she said to me. “Remember, you’re my assistant. You have to read me these rules.”

  I picked up the sheet of paper. The words all floated around on the page, like fish swimming in the ocean.

  “I’m not that good at reading,” I said to her. “You’ll have to read this yourself.”

  “I don’t have time,” Judith Ann snapped. “Can’t you see I’m preparing my vegetables?”

  “I’ll get Ashley to help,” I said. “She’s such a good reader, she could read this backward, standing on her head, with one eye closed.”

  Ashley came over and read the rules while Judith Ann set up.

  “Fine,” Judith Ann said. “I agree to everything. Who has a pen I can use?”